


Fifty/Fifty

by LizaCameron



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e21 Things Fall Apart, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-21
Updated: 2005-04-21
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaCameron/pseuds/LizaCameron
Summary: Donna finally takes her "fifty" of the blame in a post-ep forThings Fall Apart.





	Fifty/Fifty

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

 

 

**Fifty/Fifty**

**by: Liza C.**

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Post-Episode  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything; this is for fun and no money. Beta'ed by Kim.  
**Summary:** Donna finally takes her "fifty" of the blame in a post-ep for Things Fall Apart.  
**Spoiler:** Things Fall Apart

It was bothering her. Gnawing at her, really; she couldn't put it out of her mind. It certainly was to blame for why she was sleepless. At least she was lying awake in her own bed for once. But tonight, that was cold comfort.

Why had she said it? They had been having a moment. The nicest moment they'd had in… well… ages. And then she went and messed it up. Why? Why did she do that? Defensiveness? Fear? Old patterns? Things get too intense, they hit too close to home, and one of us has to say something to blunt the meaning of the words… even after the fact. That was definitely an old pattern. Through their years together, many times it had been him, but this time it had been her and she was filled with remorse.

If CJ, or someone else who didn't get her and Josh, were privy to her thoughts, they'd be wondering why Donna was being so melodramatic over five simple words. "I was talking about Will." CJ would say, "So what, it was a joke. You two used to joke all the time… his ego needs to be kept in check, that's your job." But Donna knew things that CJ didn't.

She knew why those five simple words were making her sleepless tonight. The answer came in flashes as she lay staring at the ceiling. Tonight was the night that she, Donna Moss, realized how horrible she'd been to Josh Lyman. Really, unforgivably horrible. Not because she made a wisecrack when his ego made an appearance, but because she'd never said 'thank you.'

And it finally hit her what a truly ungrateful brat she'd been. She'd been so angry and so self- righteous the last few months that she hadn't been able to see it. But now, tonight, lying alone in the dark in her dusty apartment, it was clear as crystal. She was just as much to blame for their predicament as he was.

How could she have quit like that? Just announced it in a hall that she wouldn't be in the next day? Remorse and something akin to self-loathing flooded her and a lump started to form at the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and struggled to keep her breathing even. She wouldn't cry now. Even alone where no one would see, she would not cry. That was something the weak did and she was no longer Donna Moss, unsure ingénue who wore her emotions on her sleeve.

She was now Donna Moss, smart, savvy, tough-as-nails political operative. Okay, maybe she wasn't tough as nails, but she was less emotional. But that can happen to a girl after she's almost blown up…

Nope, she wasn't going to go there. That wasn't the issue. No excuses. She was less emotional now and that was that, the reasons were irrelevant. Although, to tell the truth, sometimes she missed being heart-on-her-sleeve Donna. Sure, she'd been less fulfilled professionally and she'd had an unhealthy attachment to her boss, but she'd had a lot more fun… and she'd been happier. That wasn't something she admitted to herself very often. But now that she was admitting it, it at least left her feeling a little vindicated for staying so long. After all, wasn't 'happier' the goal?

She knew why she was happier then and the thought sent a new dizzying wave of regret over her. "To hell with it," she whispered fiercely into the darkness of her bedroom and allowed the tears to come.

And when they did, she thought about that last day. Her last day working for him. It had been hard for her, but her overriding emotion had been anger. She'd been just so mad at him for putting her off. "Jerk," she sniffled at the ceiling, for not the first time. But once again, she felt instantly repentant.

Nope, she wasn't going to backslide now into blaming him, not when she'd just admitted that the blame in this situation was a 50/50 proposition. And until this moment she hadn't owned up to her share.

While he had been a jerk and had ignored her and put her off, she had gone about everything exactly the wrong way. It was as if she'd used a wood ax to cut the cord, when regular kitchen scissors would have done the trick. If it had been any other job she would have used kitchen scissors. She shook her head and chastised herself for the lie, because she knew it wasn't the job, it was the boss. If it had been any other boss she would have neatly typed up a letter of resignation. It would have been polite and direct; probably containing some sentiment of thanks and gratitude for the opportunity, and she would have presented it with no less than two weeks notice. Much more if possible; she didn't like to leave people hanging.

Any other boss.

But he wasn't any other boss… and that was both their faults. But still, she was the one who took out the wood ax.

So why… why hadn't she done things the right way? Written a letter? Forced his hand? Been professional? She'd gotten really good at blaming him, almost turned it into an art form these last few months, but the truth was that she knew how he was… and it had been her responsibility to communicate with him, regardless of whether or not he blew her off for lunch. SIX TIMES. She forgave herself for that little dig. Six times is a lot. Still, she should have typed up that polite, impersonal letter and shoved it in his face if she had to. That was her duty, and she had failed miserably.

What had she been afraid of? The answer, of course, was many, many things. She was afraid of his reaction. She was afraid of him trying to stop her. She was afraid of him not trying to stop her. She was afraid he wouldn't be supportive. But mostly she was afraid of leaving him. The longer she put it off, the longer it didn't seem real. Because as much as she knew that it was time, leaving him was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And that included getting in a car and driving to New Hampshire… and it also included physical therapy.

That partially explained her anger. In the back of her mind, she knew if she was mad at him, it was easier to leave. She thought back and cringed. Images of her snapping at him about wine and flowers wafted through her mind. Looking back, she could see that she'd started distancing herself from him way back then and she felt instantly ashamed. It all fit now.

Sure, she'd had some issues with trauma. And eventually she'd gone to a few therapy sessions. It was normal to be angry and upset after surviving such a traumatizing, violent event. But now it was clear, the reason that she'd taken her anger out on Josh. Out of all people in her life, she'd directed her rage at the guy who dropped everything and had flown to her. The guy who sat by her bedside and was there when she woke up, the guy who met her at the airport and proudly wheeled her into work her first day back. Out of all people, she'd punished him. It was easier that way, because that way she didn't have to confront any confusing feelings. And not confronting those confusing feelings didn't just make it easier to leave, it made it possible to leave. She cried even harder.

She'd told herself that she wanted to resign to him in person. And it had to be over lunch and not over breakfast-- or any one of a thousand other moments they had while working in such close proximity-- because part of her knew that he would avoid her. And outside the office, at lunch, he couldn't avoid her. And also, part of her had wanted him to stop her; she'd fantasized that they'd have this great lunch. Two grown-ups carrying on a marvelous adult conversation. If they'd just had lunch then he could have talked about her advancement and he would have suggested some great promotion or job opportunity.

'But he didn't want you to advance or grow!' A little voice inside her head screamed. She took a deep breath and told the little voice to shut up. It was the same thought she'd had for months, but tonight she was dealing with her fifty of the blame, not his.

As she thought back, another wave of guilt came crashing around her. Regardless of whether he'd put her off, how could she have left after eight years, without saying 'thank you?' Her heart squeezed into a tight, obstinate ball in her chest and a fresh batch of tears stung her eyes.

Hadn't she at least owed him some heartfelt gratitude, no matter what he'd done or what he didn't do? He was still the guy who gave her a shot, the guy who risked his career for her, the guy who, with patience, had enjoyed teaching her everything he knew. But instead she'd given him a terse, rote comment about honor and privilege, while he stood gaping at her with disbelief. He hadn't believed that she would leave, that she was serious. Well, she showed him. She packed up her things and never came back. It had been almost a month before she'd seen him again in New Hampshire. And in that time she'd cordoned off her heart.

Part of her had expected to see him sitting on her doorstep, every night after the day she left. The other part of her wasn't surprised when he didn't show - she knew his pride-- but all of her feelings were hurt when he hadn't made even a cursory effort to get her to come back. Not one phone call. Not one e-mail. It was better that way, she'd told herself. No temptation. But it still hurt. A lot.

The truth was, she was grateful. Grateful to him. There was no way that she would have gained the knowledge and experience necessary to do her current job without him. If she'd worked for Toby, CJ or Leo, she wouldn't have been given the same insights. They wouldn't have taken the same time with her, taken joy from answering her questions. Of course, if she'd started working for one of them back when she started working for Josh, she would have moved on years ago.

But she hadn't worked for them. And in turn, her job had been like attending the Josh Lyman School of Public Affairs. She'd been a sponge, soaking up everything he'd ever done or said. And the truth was that he had always given her more responsibility than the other assistants, she saw that now. The trouble was, he was never willing to let her completely shed her Girl Friday role. So they had come to an impasse.

She took a deep cleansing breath. The tears had stopped with the realization of why those five stupid words were keeping her up tonight. It had been her opportunity to let him know, in spite of everything, that she was grateful for everything she'd learned from him. Everything he'd done for her.

The way he'd smiled at her right before he'd praised her, had made her heart flutter. No question it had made her blush. And she'd started out okay. A couple of months ago, her response to a question like, 'When did you get so smart about this stuff?' would have been 'I was always smart about this stuff, you just failed to notice. Jackass.'

But time had passed and he'd smiled at her and she knew it was his way of complimenting her… so she'd gone for it. Said the thing about having a good teacher. It was the perfect non- emotional, low-key way of acknowledging the important role he'd played in her professional development.

And it had worked. He had looked happy when she said it. Really happy. And he'd thanked her. Looking back, she was sure it was a genuine, sincere thank you; he hadn't even been smug or arrogant like he normally would have been. He had been legitimately pleased by her words. But then she'd ruined it. In essence, she'd taken it back. Under other circumstances it would have been just another playful joke between them, but these days they weren't playful, and she felt every inch the ingrate she was.

***

"'Lo?" Without opening his eyes, Josh had grabbed the receiver and brought it to cradle against his cheek. He wasn't startled; late night phone calls were the norm while running a campaign for the Presidency.

"Hello… anybody there?" He mumbled sleepily against the mouthpiece when no one responded the first time. For a second time no one answered; he grunted and was about to hang up when he heard a soft voice.

"Wait… Josh…"

His eyes popped open the second he heard her voice. He cleared his throat before questioning, "Donna?"

"Yes."

Neither spoke for a moment as Josh's mind began to clear. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. "It's 3am," he mumbled. Why was Donna calling him at 3am? When that question finally took hold, he sat bolt upright as panic overwhelmed him. The words came in a rush, each new one tripping over the last. "Where are you? Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm home," she quickly reassured when she heard the worry ring through his voice. Part of her was pleased that he still cared enough to be worried.

"Are you sure?" His anxiety was still evident, even though the phone.

"Yes… I'm sure. I'm fine." Mostly fine, she added silently.

"Oh…" Relaxing his muscles from when he'd gone into fight-or-flight mode, he laid back down. "You scared me."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh… why are you calling me at 3am? You don't call me anymore." The worlds were out of his mouth before he could censor them.

Donna's stomach hit the floor. It was too late; he didn't want to hear from her. Part of her >br>wanted to cry because he didn't want to talk to her and part of her was relived that she wouldn't have to say anything. "Oh… right…. sorry. I shouldn't have called so late. I'll let you get back to sleep."

"No!" It came out as a loud, quick bark. "I mean, you can call me anytime. I'm glad you called. I'm just… uh… a little curious about why you called."

After another prolonged silence, he prodded, "Donna, you still there?" She just started babbling without any further preamble. "When we were talking in the bar and you said, 'when did you get so smart about this stuff' and I said 'I had a good teacher' and you responded, 'Thanks' and then I got the last word and teased you about the 'I meant Will' comment… I just wanted you to know that I didn't."

Josh shook his head back and forth slightly on the pillow in order to clear it and then uttered a particularly inarticulate, "Huh?"

"You didn't what?"

"I didn't mean Will. I meant you. You were the good teacher… I just wanted you to know that."

Josh brought one hand up to his eyes and rubbed fiercely. "You called me at 3am to tell me you made a joke two days ago?"

She took a deep breath. "When you put it like that it sounds silly."

"It's not silly?" He smiled as he spoke and she could hear it in his voice. Josh couldn't help thinking how nice it was to talk to her. Just to hear her voice. Even at 3am. Hell, it was even better at 3am. He missed this kind of intimacy like he'd missed nothing else in his life before.

"Did you take it as a joke?"

"What?" Josh asked, his smile gone. He shouldn't be surprised that she could still read his mind. It was easy enough to play it off as a witty remark, but it had stung.

"When I said it was Will… did you take that as a joke?"

He huffed loudly and finally admitted, "No."

"That's why I'm calling at 3am… to tell you that; it was a joke and I didn't mean it."

"Oh… okay."

"Soooo…" Donna drawled the word out for as long as it could go.

"So," Josh echoed before swallowing hard.

"I guess I should let you go. Sorry to wake you. Good night, Josh."

"Wait!" Josh practically screeched as he sat up again. He'd had so very few opportunities to talk to her lately, he wasn't about to let this one go.

"Okay," Donna agreed quietly. She knew she should say more in her blame-taking conversation, but she suddenly felt paralyzed from the esophagus up.

"Seriously, Donna. Why are you calling to tell me that now?"

She paused for several seconds and then a smirk formed on her tear-stained face and she went into self-defense mode. "Well, I didn't want it to keep you up nights, you know, feeling second best. You may lose this campaign to Will, but you can take comfort from the fact that one of the reasons we beat you… is that you taught me how."

Instantly he replied, "It's not over yet, Donnatella, the last chicken hasn't… clucked."

"Oh I can hear the clucking of the chickens, Joshua. They are fit to be… fried," she replied with a confidence she didn't feel. But she didn't care if the fight wasn't over and she hadn't won yet; it didn't stop the huge smile that was spreading across her face.

"Well, you do speak their language." He matched her grin as he leaned back against his headboard. He inhaled deeply and after a few long moments of silence he continued softly. "For the record, if you learned anything from me, it's only because you're the best student, Donna… the best. I know now that you were unhappy, I now understand that. But there are things that I wouldn't trade…"

Again Donna's heart squeezed into a ball in her chest and her voice sounded foreign, even to her own ears. "What wouldn't you trade?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, before finally just saying it. "Our time together."

She felt tingly in just about every nether portion of her body. "Me, neither."

"Really?" Surprise, wonder and hope all rang through the one little word.

"Really," she reassured and then added slowly, "I don't want the chickens to cluck, Josh."

He crinkled his brow. "The convention is almost here and one way or another, an egg is going to be laid…"

"I wasn't talking about the election."

"Oh?" Was she talking about then? "You mean…"

She nodded but he couldn't see her. So when she didn't respond, he asked tentatively, "You were talking about… the end of ... our time… together?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she waited for his reaction.

She would have been reassured and not a little happy to see the huge grin that broke across his face. "Well, I don't hear any clucking… do you?"

She emitted a small, relieved giggle. "Not a peep."

"Well then, there's our answer."

"I like that answer." She yawned. Suddenly, she felt like she'd be able to sleep.

"Maybe after the convention we could compare notes about poultry and stuff." His voice was still unsure. "Maybe over dinner?"

"Yeah…" She replied eagerly. "Maybe over dinner… as long as…"

"As long as what?" He sounded wary.

"As long as we don't go anywhere that serves chicken."

"Vegetarian… done." It came out with a low laugh. He suddenly felt happier than he had in ages. "Hey, Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for calling."

She smiled broadly as she curled on to her side and whispered into the receiver, "Good night, Joshua."

"Night, Donnatella."


End file.
